Page 38 of Forbidden Obsession

The open waters we crossed were a canvas of deep blues and greens, the waves cresting and falling like the breathing of a slumbering giant. The sun was a muted orb in the winter sky, casting a silvery light over the seascape, turning the water into a shimmering expanse that stretched endlessly toward the horizon.

As we drew nearer, the island revealed itself—a lush oasis amidst the vastness of the sea. It was a jewel of nature, an untamed beauty I had tamed just enough to call my own. Forests of pine and olive trees clung to the rugged cliffs, their branches dusted with a light frost that sparkled under the sun’s touch. The air was scented with the sea’s briny tang and the woods’ earthy fragrance.

I leaned closer to Penelope, my voice a low rumble over the hum of the helicopter. “The only way in or out is by helicopter.”

Her eyes widened. “What about by boat?”

“There is no way to dock by boat outside of the island, but there is a yacht for the purposes of entertainment.”

Her brows rose. “I supposed making the helicopter the only entrance was done on purpose?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“So it will be revealed ahead of time when danger lurks.”

A shudder slid over her shoulders. “As in when someone shows up uninvited?”

“Exactly that.”

You’ve mentioned danger before. What kind of danger?”

“Does it matter?”

She shrugged. “Danger is danger, I guess.”

I smirked. “Yes,” I drawled. “It is.”

“And what happens if someone tries to breach your island without prior approval?”

“I make the sea their new home.”

Her eyes widened, and she stared at me. I saw apprehension in her soft, mystic eyes. Penelope was wondering what she’d gotten herself into. But it was far too late to think twice. I’d tasted her, and now, she was mine.

The estate was an architectural marvel, a fusion of modern luxury and classic Italian elegance. The main house, sprawling and grand, was built of warm stone and rich, dark wood, its large windows reflecting the winter sky. Red-hued terra cotta roofs adorned each building against the verdant landscape.

The helicopter descended, the blades sending a flurry of snow swirling around us as we landed on a helipad nestled in the gardens. I glanced at Penelope, her face alight with wonder, and felt a surge of satisfaction.

This was my world, and I was sharing it with her. While I controlled what she saw, I knew having her around was playing a dangerous game.

We stepped out onto the helipad, the crunch of snow underfoot breaking the silence of the secluded haven. The gardens, even in winter, revealed meticulous care. Bare, twisting vines of what would be vibrant rose bushes in spring lined the pathways, their thorns glistening with tiny droplets of melted frost. Statues of marble, remnants of a long-forgotten era, stood straight amidst the sleeping flora, their expressions serene under the weight of time.

A short walk brought us to the vineyards, rows upon rows of grapevines standing dormant, their branches bare and waiting for the warmth of spring to awaken them. I watched Penelope as she trailed her fingers over the rough bark, a look of quiet contemplation on her face.

Beyond the vineyards lay the main house. As we approached, the details of its splendor became apparent. Intricate carvings adorned the doorways and windows, scenes of Italian folklore and history etched into the stone. The large doors opened to a grand foyer, its high ceilings, and open space a welcoming embrace.

I led Penelope through the house, each room a blend of opulence and comfort. The furniture was plush and inviting, the walls adorned with art that spoke of my refined taste. Fireplaces crackled in every room, their warmth making you forget about the winter chill outside.

The tour ended at the back of the house, where large windows offered a panoramic view of the island. The sea stretched out before us, a vast, undulating entity of its own being.

I stood beside Penelope, my gaze lingering on her profile, the way her eyes reflected the beauty of the world I had brought her into on the surface.

At that moment, I felt a sense of peace, a rare respite from the duties and demands of my life as the underboss of the Lucas Cosa Nostra and the Black Rose. I inhaled that peace and had wrestled with it in the beginning because it was foreign and unrealistic.

But the more Penelope refused to leave me, the more I reveled in its splendor in the relaxing essence of its powerful magic. Against my better judgment, I’d allowed it, and now, in this moment, I lived a dream I’d wanted to make a reality all those years ago when I was just a boy. To be normal and captivated by a woman who shared my captivation; tucked away at the serene beauty of a hidden paradise.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t my reality, but I would pretend as long as this trip would last.

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